


Gloria Dreams

by LectorEl



Category: The Posterchildren - QuipQuipQuip
Genre: And she's surviving a monsterous injustice, Because Gloria makes my heart hurt, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-23 10:32:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LectorEl/pseuds/LectorEl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because Gloria’s story makes me ache for her, and dreams are the last refuge of someone caged. Gloria sleeps, and Gloria dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gloria Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quipquipquip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quipquipquip/gifts).



> Written for QuipQuipQuip's Posterchildren book, which will be coming out sometime this year. If you want to get it cheap, you can kick in over at [indiegogo](http://www.indiegogo.com/posterchildrenproject)

She lay down on the thin mattress, ignoring the watchful eye of the camera. She’s been under surveillance for over half her adult life, and ignoring her own lack of privacy is second nature.

The snow is cold enough to burn beneath her bare feet, and the wind cuts through her unclothed skin, down to the bone. But she can’t stop. There is something out there, some place she is meant to be. Gloria shivers, embracing herself, and takes another step.

As she walks, she sees other figures in the distance, all barefoot, all walking alone. Their footprints carve pathways in the field of snow. But none of the footprints lead where Gloria must go.

“Winter is not kind in its lessons,” the other woman says from behind her. She steps up to walk beside Gloria, her feet leaving no mark on the snow. The woman tucks a lock of Gloria’s hair behind her ear. “Take heart. Spring comes late, but it always comes. Even iron bars will rust.”

Gloria nods, eyes fixed on the horizon. The moon has barely risen, and the night ahead is long. She is alone again. She walks, through the snow, into a field of black ash. It rises from the ground in plumes with every step she takes, coating her bare legs. She stops before a statue that rises from the ash.

The woman it depicts is little more than a skeleton with skin pulled tight over un-fleshed bones. She smiles, triumphant, in jarring contrast to her emaciated frame. Gloria stretches to the very limits of her body, and retrieves the iron circlet the statue wears.

“You finally made it,” the girl says, kicking her feet idly as she sits on the edge of the statue’s high base. “What will you do now?”

Gloria turns and looks behind her, at the vast patchwork field of ash and snow. “Go back to where I started.”

“It won’t be the same,” the girl warns. She drops to her feet. “They change the terrain when you’re not looking.”

Gloria runs her fingers around the rim of the iron circlet, and settles it on her own head. “I know. But neither am I.”


End file.
